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thank you poem

sono, irmão cinzento da morte
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
o que era ele os motores ditos
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
eu vi que você hunched e tiritando nas pedras
musing, entre o por do sol e a obscuridade
laranjas arrancando nubian azul-pretas
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy

 



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